


Base Born Bard

by SunflowerSupreme



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Daddy Issues, Gen, Internalized racism, Just lots of Issues, Mommy Issues, One Shot Collection, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Someone hug the bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Baseborn.Adjective.Of low birth or origin. Illegitimate or bastard.Some times Dandelion’s heritage causes them trouble, sometimes it doesn't.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 153





	1. The Edge of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: a little of the dialogue with Filavandrel comes from the book.

Geralt knew what he was the moment he met him. He’d be a piss poor Witcher if he couldn’t tell that the delicate singer who looked a fraction his age was part elf.

But Geralt had nothing against elves as a whole and Dandelion seemed harmless enough. So Geralt said nothing.

When they’d first been approached by Filavandrel, it had seemed that the elven king hadn’t noticed Dandelion, hadn’t realized what he was, and Geralt had been determined to keep it that way.

He kept his voice loud, hissed at Dandelion to shut up, and hoped he could keep the elves attention on himself. He wasn’t certain what reaction they would have, if they realized the bard was elven, but he couldn’t imagine it would be good. There was little resemblance between them, after all, and as far as Geralt could tell, no shared background. Dandelion was clearly well off and spoiled while the elves were exactly the opposite.

The distraction worked, but only for a short time.

Then, when Filavandrel had finally decided he was going to kill them, Dandelion spoke up, “Elf.” At first Geralt thought he was going to try to play into his heritage, their shared blood, but instead he the poet said, “I’ve got friends. People who’ll pay random for us. In the form of provisions if you like, or any form. Think about it. After all, those stolen seeds aren’t going to save you-”

Filavandrel’s lips tightened and Geralt finally cut Dandelion off, “Nothing will save them anymore. Don’t grovel, Dandelion, don’t beg him. It’s pointless and pitiful.”

“Yes,” agreed Filavandrel, his frown curling into a sneer. “Pointless and pitiful, like a traitor who begs for the life fo a human above that of his own kin.”

Geralt felt Dandelion still, his heartbeat quicken. “You misunderstand him,” Geralt said quickly. “He’s trying to save himself. Common sense would be to spare him, after all, he has many friends.” There, let Filavandrel think Dandelion might have elven friends. “Nobody’s going to ask after me, but they are going to take revenge for him.”

It hadn’t worked, Filavandrel barely hesitated before saying, “You judge my common sense poorly, Witcher. If he survived, thanks to you, he would surely seek revenge.”

“You can be sure of that!” shouted Dandelion, who seemingly couldn’t stay quiet for long. “You can be sure of that, you son of a bitch. At least if I’m dead I won’t be kin with you any longer!”

Torque squeaked. Filavandrel said nothing, but his eyes flashed. Toruviel roared with rage and lunged, kicking Dandelion in the ribs.

“You fucking idiot!” hissed Geralt.

Dandelion, for his part, seemed rather pleased with how angered he’d made the elves, but only once he’d spat up blood from Toruviel’s kick.

* * *

“By the gods, Geralt.” Dandelion cradled his lute, pressing it against his cheek as though it were a newborn babe. “This wood sings on its own! These strings are alive! What wonderful tonality! Bloodly hell, a coupe of kicks and a bit of fear is a pretty low price to pay for such a superb lute.”

Geralt snorted and didn’t look up from his book, but Dandelion continued on, “I’d have let myself be kicked from dawn to dusk if I’d know what I was going to get. Geralt? Are you listening to me at all?”

“It’s difficult not to hear you two.” Finally looking up from the book, Geralt leveled the bard and the Sylvan - who was puffing on set of pipes made from reeds - with a glare.“I hear you. The whole neighborhood hears you.”

“Duvvelsheyss, not neighborhood,” squeaked Torque.

Dandelion ignored them both, tossing dry wood into the fire as he happily said, “I’ll describe our whole expedition to the edge of the world in a ballad,” the poet declared, sitting down and cuddling his lute once more. “And I’ll describe you in it too, Torque. And you Geralt.”

The Witcher raised an eyebrow. “And how shall the elves feature in your tale?”

“Eugh,” Dandelion said, shivering. “As little as possible I should think. Frightful tempers and manners, the whole lot of them. Lovely though this lute is, I’d sooner be dead than be an elf.”

Geralt and Torque looked at one another in surprise. Torque opened his mouth, as if he was considering pointing out that Dandelion was one of those so-called _wretches_ , but Geralt shook his head. “Don’t,” he said softly.

“Besides,” continued Dandelion, unaware of the look his companions had shared. “I can’t mention them, or the difficulties they’ve got to struggle with. There’d be no shortages of scum wanting to go into the mountains to hasten the-” he cut himself off sharply, then curled his knees toward his chest, suddenly melancholy.

“Go on, finish,” said Torque. “You wanted to say, _hasten the inevitable_.”

“They’re going to die out,” said Dandelion glumly. “They can’t stop that. No one can, right Geralt?”

“That’s up to Filavandrel,” replied the Witcher, poking at the fire with a stick. “He’ll have to coexist with humans, he doesn’t have a choice.”

“That won’t end well,” muttered the bard, almost to himself. “It never does.” Then abruptly he stood up and announced, “I’m off to bed. Goodnight Torque. Goodnight Geralt.”


	2. The Bardic Competition

Festivals, Fetes, and Bardic Competitions were far from Geralt's favorite place to be, but Dandelion had pleaded so nicely, saying he wanted Geralt to stay with him. He'd won him over when he'd said the competitors would get a room and food. 

At first, Geralt hadn't understood why Dandelion thought he needed protection from fellow bards, but then he'd met Valdo Marx. 

"You shouldn't even be allowed to compete," snarled Valdo. "It's not fair to pit humans against half-breeds." 

Dandelion, to his extreme credit, stayed silent, gripping his lute case tightly as his face paled. Geralt shifted in preparation to drag the bard from the room if trouble started. He would have worried more if it didn't seem that Valdo was just making shit up. Accusing Dandelion of being a half breed seemed to be more because it was the first thing that came to mind, not because he actually believed it. 

"I'm as human as you," Dandelion said finally. 

Valdo scoffed. "No mortal could survive being fucked by a mutant." 

Dandelion jumped to his feet, what little control he had forgotten. "Geralt's not a monster!" 

"I've never met a whore as loyal as you," sneered Valdo.

Geralt weighed his options. Defending Dandelion would be the quickest way to cemenate Dandelion's status as "The Witcher's Whore," but not defending him would be the quickest way for someone to be seriously injured. 

"I appreciate your defense," Geralt said softly, "But Valdo is right. I am a mutant." 

Dandelion's face fell, looking disappointed with Geralt. Valdo, realizing he wasn't going to get the reaction he wanted, finally slunk off after growling several more insults. 

As soon as he was gone, Dandelion turned on Geralt. "You're human." 

"No," Geralt said. "I'm not." 

"You have feelings, emotions, you-" 

"That's not what defines a human," Geralt said softly. "It's _biology_." 

Immediately, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Dandelion's face crumbled, he opened his mouth, although to defend himself or Geralt, it wasn't clear, then licked his lips instead. "I should practice," he said tersely. He turned his back, grabbing for his lute and hurrying out the door. 


	3. Not a Fair

“Geralt, I believe there’s a fair today,” said Dandelion brightly, shaking the Witcher awake.

He groaned, sheltering his eyes against the bright light and giving the bard a suspicious look. “When did you wake up?” he asked roughly. It was highly unusual that Dandelion was up before him, and something he should probably be concerned about.

But Dandelion ignored the question, gesturing to the open window. “See, Geralt? It seems like a lovely time, there ought to be food as well, and I can play for some coin - there’s always coin to be had for bards of my talent at events such as these - and we’ll have a grand old time of it.”

Geralt begrudgingly allowed himself to be pulled from the room, allowing Dandelion to bounce happily ahead of him, his lute tossed over his shoulder. He barely listened to what the bard was saying, letting his words wash over him as he prattled on about the delights of a fair. 

Although less excited than his companion, it was difficult not to allow himself to be at least a little cheered by the turn of events. 

But that high ended quickly as they stepped outside the inn. The noise of the crowd washed over him, and for a moment, Geralt couldn't distinguish everything that was happening, unable to separate all the different smells and sounds. Instead he followed behind Dandelion numbly, unable to shake the feeling that something, somewhere was wrong.

Then it hit him all at once.

Geralt suddenly grabbed the back of Dandelion’s shirt and dragged him backwards, into an alley. “Ah- Geralt I-”

“This isn’t a fair,” Geralt hissed. “We need to get out of here, _now_.”

“What do you mean it’s not- Geralt!” Ignoring Dandelion’s questions, Geralt grabbed the bard and drug him back toward the inn. Inside was nothing but empty space as Geralt pulled him up to their room, throwing their things into bags.

“Geralt, what’s happening?” demanded Dandelion, a pout on his lips.

“It’s not a fair.”

Dandelion sighed, resting his hands on his hips. “You’ve said that Geralt, so what exactly is it?”

Geralt paused in his packing, then grabbed Dandelion’s leather satchel. He turned to face him, shoving the bag into the poet’s chest and meeting his eyes. “It’s a pogram.”

The blood drained from Dandelion’s face and he fumbled to grab his bag. “What- what do you mean by that, Geralt?”

The Witcher swallowed. “They’re burning elves.” He’d heard them, shouting above the clamor of the crowd, and smelled the fires.

Dandelion paled and his eyes widened. But forced a laugh, and said, “Well, as long as they don’t come after Witchers-”

Geralt grabbed the front of his shirt. “They’d kill half elves first, Dandelion.”

The bard went very still, his breathing quickening. He took several deep breaths, licked his lips, and then whispered, “You know.”

“I’ve known since I met you in Gulet, now move.” He drug the still stunned bard toward the door, shoving it open and peering down the hall. Together they slipped from the room, down the empty halls, and into the stable.

Outside, the clamor of excited voices continued.

Dandelion’s hands shook as he worked at his gelding’s tack, and Geralt moved behind him, checking to ensure it was properly done up once he’d saddled Roach. “Geralt,” the bard asked, watching as Geralt tightened the saddle, “Is there nothing we can do?”

Geralt shook his head. “There’s too many,” he said, grabbing Dandelion and lifting him into the saddle once he was certain it was secure. “I don’t want to kill half the town if I don’t have to.”

He couldn’t save the elves they’d already caught. But he could save Dandelion and he squashed the guilt over the people he would have to leave behind.

“What do you mean, if you don’t have to?” asked Dandelion.

Geralt led on foot to the stable door, pausing and peering out the crack. The street outside was empty. “As soon as the door’s open, head north, I’ll catch you outside of town.” The door’s latch was low and couldn’t be opened from horseback, so he’d have to get Dandelion out and then follow him. If luck was on their side, the villagers were too pleased with themselves to notice the fleeing men. If luck wasn’t on their side-

He shook away the thought.

“Geralt you still haven’t answered-”

“They won’t take you as long as I’m still breathing,” Geralt said, hoping it would shut him up.

The bard’s eyes widened, but before he could think of a responce, Geralt shoved the stable door open, slapped the bard’s gelding on the rear, and said, “I’ll catch up.”

Dandelion yelped as his horse tore out of the stable. The poet managed once last frightened glance over his shoulder, then he disappeared around a bend. Geralt swung onto Roach, then followed after him.

As far as Geralt was aware, they hadn't done anything to signal Dandelion's ancestry. Dandelion seemed human enough, but there was still something that was too fine, too pretty. It was too easy for suspicions to be raised. One wrong move and they would have become the next victims. 

So although running was certainly suspicious, Geralt wasn't willing to take a chance on the alternative. 

He caught up with Dandelion outside of town, and although it seemed they hadn't been followed, they pushed the horses for several more hours, not slowing until Geralt was fully convinced they were safe. 

Even once they slowed to a walk, Dandelion was uncharacteristically quiet, fiddling with his saddle and the gelding's mane. Finally, when Geralt was about to snap at him to say something - _anything_ \- he spoke. "How long have you known?" 

"Since we first met." 

Dandelion finally turned to face him, studying Geralt intently. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"It does to most people." 

"Not to me." 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/). I accept prompts, fangirling, and accusations of character abuse.
> 
> I've marked it as _Complete_ since each chapter is a stand alone story, but I will periodically be adding more chapters in the same vein.


End file.
